Thermostat
by cheese on Toast
Summary: In which the thermostat sucks, Mello is downright selfish, and Matt is stuck in the middle. MattxMello because it's kind of implied.


(Sadly, I don't own Death Note. But, geez, sometimes I do wish I did, lol :D also, this is the first time I've ever written something Death Note related, let alone anything Matt-Mello-related. So it kind of scared me, but I think it turned out at least moderately well!)

_in which the thermostat sucks, Mello is downright selfish, and Matt is caught in the Middle._

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Air is a very mysterious thing.

That is, the air that blows out of the vents in a house when one does the phrase of 'putting the air on,' as in, turning the temperature in the house down to some ungodly temperature so that when the air kicks in at random points during the night, when you're sitting at a desk clicking furiously away at a computer, the glow from that the only thing illuminating your room, you get severely pissed off when a blast of cold air suddenly hits your legs.

Which is why Mello is severely pissed off right now as he pushes himself away from his desk, the wheels of his chair clicking as they roll across the polished wooden floor. He huffs as he walks out of the room, his breath tickling his bangs and making them brush away from his eyes for a moment. Right when was working was when the cold air suddenly decided to stage a coup on his skin, small little soldiers stabbing ice-cold bayonets into his flesh.

_Right when he was working._

As if the world wasn't unkind to him enough already, fate just had to worm its way into that and ruin that too.

While traipsing down the hallway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, Mello proceeds to curse out fate with the most extensive list of profanities that he can think of. He does feel better afterwards, but he's still pissed off.

He trudges over to the grey box fixated on the wall that passes for a thermostat and flips it open, his eyes narrowing.

Mello then remembers that he doesn't know _how_ to workthe thermostat.

Shit.

He looks around, his eyes narrowing, and spots the light on in the kitchen, illuminating the dingy walls that shouldn't even be legal to be a kitchen, where Matt sits at the small, circular wooden table that wobbles on its one leg. His chin in perched onto his hand, his dark eyes staring out from behind his goggles fixed over his face, his red hair flopping into the pale complexion. Mello walks over to the doorway, leaning against the frame and hoping that the action won't bring down the shanty of the apartment they had the 'fortune' of living in.

"Matt."

His eyes barely move behind the orange-tinted glass, flicking in Mello's direction. "Mels."

"What the hell is up with the goddamn thermostat?"

"I have no clue what on earth you're talking about," Matt then says, a quasi-innocent look passing over his face as he drills his fingertips against the surface of the table, a smile perched sardoncially over his lips, and Mello gives him the death glare of a masochist, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Don't play that shit with me, Matt. Just go fix it, it's freezing."

"Fix it yourself."

"Don't feel like it."

"Asshole. Just go turn the heat up."

"Why can't you?"

At that, Matt shoves himself back roughly in his chair, the legs skidding against the linoleum floor, possibly leaving skid marks in the cheap excuse for flooring. He walks quickly past Mello, moving over to the hallway and flipping the top off of the thermostat. After a few moments of fiddling with the thing, he slips the top shut, the _clack _it makes much more louder then it should've been. Matt leans against the hallway, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, giving Mello a look he supposes is supposed to be threatening, because he can't really tell much around the mask of Matt's goggles.

"Because that's all I'm good for, isn't it?"

Maybe there was a reason his goggles always seemed like some kind of safeguard, some kind of shield.

Mello remains in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at him as if trying to pierce the thick armor placed strategically over the redhead's heart. He has a habit of saying things like that nowadays, and it's words like those that crawl down Mello's spine like spiders, bitter in their footsteps as they make their way over the bones. Like Matt realizes how he's being treated.

It's not like Mello _means _to treat him as coldly as he does. It's the way he functions. Blow up some buildings, smash some heads in, order Matt around, rinse and repeat. It was simple for him.

He knows that he's using Matt. He knows that. He knows that he doesn't value him as much as he should for letting him crash into his house like he had, for taking care of him, and for all that lovely shit that he's done. He knows all the things that Matt's doing for him, but he can't bring himself to tell him how much he appreciates that.

Blow up some buildings, smash some heads in, order Matt around, rinse and repeat.

But surely Matt knew that Mello valued him more then that. That, yes, he was using him for his own purposes, but he cared about him. That, yes, he was only using him and was probably going to forever just use him because of the aforementioned rinse and repeat that he can't deviate away from. But he cared about him. Somewhere between the blowing up buildings and the smashing heads in and the ordering him around. Even if he was just going to use him forever. Over and over and over again.

But surely he understood that, didn't he?

Surely.


End file.
